


Incipere

by TheWickedWitchofDammitJim



Series: Academia AU [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fluff, M/M, SGA Secret Santa Fic Exchange, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWickedWitchofDammitJim/pseuds/TheWickedWitchofDammitJim
Summary: After being shipped home with a missing arm and a scarred face, John Sheppard goes back to his other great love: Mathematics. 
Rodney McKay bribes him to become his TA. 
It's all downhill from there really.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My Secret Santa for melimegreenleaf! 
> 
> I hope I hit the spot with this darling, and that the festive season is bright and jolly. I promise the angst gives way to fluff. 
> 
> Also, my beta did her best with this monster. Any and all mistakes are my own (please ignore my complete and utter ignorance of the American university system).

For Major John Sheppard it starts with a bang. 

It is not a bang that happens, as everyone expects, while he is performing impossible heroics in his beloved chopper. 

It happens when John is on the ground. A terrorist takes a pot shot at their camp and scores a lucky hit. 

A hit that takes John Sheppard’s right arm. 

He’s saved in a field hospital in the scorching sand, and shipped home for recovery as soon as he’s stable. The air force calls his ex-wife. 

“John.” Nancy says. 

John doesn’t answer. 

Nancy doesn’t stay that first day. But she does come back.

It becomes a ritual, as much as anything does in a recovery ward. Everyone knows that Nancy comes to visit every Tuesday and Sunday. 

They sit in silence, but at least they are together. 

Two months after the start of their strange ritual, Nancy brings a sudoku book to their meeting. And John notices. His eyes track her movements for the first time since he came home. 

The next time she comes, she brings another book. And although John stares at the book and accompanying pencil she places in his lap for the entire hour that she stays, at least he is staring at something other than the wall. 

The next time she visits, there is a page of puzzles solved in a childish handwriting on the wall. 

She solves seven puzzles in an hour, and John is still painstakingly writing out his answer, his scarred face scrunched in concentration. 

After that, recovery comes in fits and starts. 

The first time John uses his voice again is six months after his homecoming, to throw the sudoku book against the wall in frustration as he screams himself hoarse. 

It is still counted as progress. Because even screaming is better than catatonic silence. 

Nancy never suggests calling his father. 

But his father comes nonetheless, eight months into his recovery. 

“John.” Patrick says. “You can come home now. You still have your place in the company.” 

John does not answer verbally, but his resentment fills the room until Patrick leaves. And even then, it takes days for it to dissipate. 

In the end it is Nancy who gives him a challenge. 

“It’s a pity.” She muses, staring at the puzzles (not just sudoku anymore) and the equations that have been painstakingly traced over and over that cover the walls after ten months. “That you never got your doctorate. You always loved math.”

She leaves a brochure for Berkeley. 

The next time she visits, the GRE curriculum has joined the collection on John’s wall. 

She’s not surprised when John gets a perfect score. 

She’s even less surprised when Berkeley accepts him. 

\-----———-

For Rodney McKay, it doesn’t so much start as it never really ends. 

He’s a genius after all. 

His parents do not much care for the model rocket (which manages a record height when launched) he builds at six. 

His father is not home and his mother is crying over her pregnancy test. 

Rodney writes the results in his science book nonetheless. 

In fifth grade the FBI takes him into custody for his working model of an A-bomb. And his parents do not come to get him. 

Mrs Tomlinson, his science teacher, does. 

She says he is not being challenged, and so she fills out his forms and he is shipped off to a school for the very gifted. 

His parents neither notice nor care. 

He finishes his degree at eighteen. His parents do not come to graduation. 

So in order to make the strange feeling in his chest stop, he turns to his one true love: physics. He spends that summer and all the rest in the labs. 

His professors all agree that he is brilliant still, no sign of ever becoming ordinary, especially with his work ethics. 

His peers resent him. 

But it is all right, because physics is always there for him. It does not blame him, or tell him that he is the cause of everything that is wrong. 

It does not hit or yell or cry. 

It welcomes him with open arms. 

Government agencies try to recruit him, but he knows that they will sully it. The pureness of Physics cannot be tainted by government agencies (he has learned this from Oppenheimer and Einstein). 

He receives his PhD at 26, and he does not feel empty. He is tenured at 28.

He does not need anything more. 

————————

John is met by a gorgeous brunette who’s smile barely falters at the scarred right side of his face or his empty sleeve. 

Instead she sticks our her left hand and says, “I am Teyla Emmagan. I’m two years ahead of you in the program, so I’ll be your unofficial guide.” 

She has a strange accent. 

John shakes her hand and drawls (because he cannot rush through words with his twisted lips, but no one else needs to know this) his own introduction. 

“I’ll give you a tour.” Teyla says. “It will start with the best coffee shop on campus and end with Dr Weir, the head of the program.” 

The coffee they get from Rasa Caffe is damn good. And the walk to Evans Hall is relaxing with Teyla pointing out landmarks and giving brief descriptions of the history that they have. 

Doctor Weir turns out to be friendly but businesslike. 

“We’re very glad to have you, Mr Sheppard.” She nods at him. “I’m sure you’ll be an asset to the university. Here’s your welcome package and curriculum. Teyla will show you the post grad office.” 

The post grad office, it turns out, is crowded but neat and contains a large man with dreadlocks who introduces himself as Ronon Dex. 

“Nice name.” John smirks. 

“I’m a big believer in my right to bear arms.” Ronon says with a vicious grin. “And I have this creepy shooter coat.” 

That startles a laugh out of John. 

“I think I like you.” Ronon says in a voice filled with wonder. “You’re crazy.”

“Used to be a Major in the USAF.” John shrugs in reply. 

“That how you lost your arm?” Ronon asks gruffly. 

“Do not ask rude questions.” Teyla admonishes. 

“Nah.” John waves it off. “It’s okay. If we’re gonna be sharing an office, I guess you’d want to know.”

Teyla gives him a knowing look, but Ronon just nods and turns back to his laptop. 

It’s not as bad as it could be, all in all. 

———————

Rodney is outraged. 

“What do you mean no one wants to be my TA?” 

Ms. Cadman gives him an unimpressed look. “It means that you’re a terror. And the senior students made sure the new students know this. Congratulations Professor, your reputation precedes you.” 

“Charming. But I need a TA.” 

“A TA is not a right. It’s a privilege. And you’ve thrown it away.” 

“I’m far too precious a resource to just throw my time away with marking and office hours! Do you even understand the importance of my work? Of course not! You’re obviously far too stupid. But that does not change the fact that I need a TA!” 

Cadman gives him an unimpressed look. “I’m shocked that you don’t have students lining up to work with you. Considering your charming personality.” 

“It’s not about my personality! They should be lining up because I’m the best! My work is revolutionary and being part of it is a privilege! Unlike having a TA! You should make it happen!” 

Cadman kicks him out. Rodney curses the stupidity of people. 

Back in his office he hacks the university’s records and quickly dismisses the senior students as idiots (he’s worked with them all and they’re useless). 

The only hope from the new bunch is a pretty girl named Keller. 

Who turns pale upon seeing him. 

“I’m already Professor Carson’s TA!” She cuts him off before he can say anything, holding her laptop in front of her like a shield. 

“Are you insane? I’m going to win the Nobel soon! Carson is mediocre at best! With all that supersymmetry voodoo nonsense! I’m a far superior scientist!”

“You are brilliant, but…”

“You’re also batshit crazy with the charm of a cactus dipped in lemon juice.” Kavanagh snickers from where he’s skulking by the copier. 

“Shut up Kavangh. Your stupidity is far less charming!” Rodney snaps before turning back to Keller. 

Who has gone missing. 

“Oh woe is poor Rodney.” Kavanagh sighs dramatically. “Having to descent to the plane of us mere mortals and actually work.” 

Rodney doesn’t dignify that with an answer, but rather goes back to hacking the university’s records. If he can’t have a physicist as a TA, he can just poach one from another department. 

Maths is the best place to start, really. And it doesn’t take long to find a promising student: new to Berkeley, perfect score on the GRE, not assigned a TA position yet. 

Used to be air force, so he should be good under pressure. 

Rodney’s not sure why he hasn’t been snapped up, but he doesn’t question it, or look at the attached photo. 

He doesn’t care what the man looks like. 

So Rodney hacks his financial records and finds that he frequents Rasa Caffe like anyone with good taste. 

From there it’s not hard to scare off a couple of undergrads from a choice table which has a perfect view of the door and the counter. Rodney sets up his laptop, lab book and various journals so that they make it perfectly clear that the entire table belongs to him. 

A barista makes a vague attempt to remove him from the table but does not manage to survive Rodney’s sharp tongue. 

Two hours and 39 minutes of productivity later, he hears the call for “Sheppard!” and drags himself into the bustle of the coffee shop to see the man in question. 

Rodney blinks in surprise, thinking that perhaps he should have looked at the photo because the man in question has a burn scar on the right side of his face, and a missing arm to go with it. 

Which might explain why he hasn’t been snapped up as a TA yet. 

Not that it matters in the long run, since all Rodney really needs is someone to do the grunt work that comes with tenure so that Rodney can be assured of his Nobel in ten years. 

So Rodney gets up and storms to the man who is currently adding his fifth packet of sugar to his coffee (which is morally repugnant to Rodney, why would anyone do that to coffee??). 

“5807!” Rodney barks when he gets close enough that Sheppard has already started turning to him with a snarl on his face. 

Rodney makes sure to stop just out of range of the man’s fist, because he’s been beaten up enough times to know that that makes it a lot harder for someone to hit him. 

“What the fuck?” Sheppard spits. 

Rodney snaps his fingers impatiently. “Prime or not-prime? 5807!”

“Prime.” Sheppard drawls. “Which also answers the question of crazy/not-crazy.” 

“What about 10 456?” 

“Not playing.” Shepard turns away. 

“So you don’t know?” 

“More like I don’t need the crazy, thanks.” 

“I’m not crazy. I’m brilliant and I want to offer you a job.” 

Sheppard turns to lean against the counter and raises his eyebrows at him. “Really.” 

“Yes. But I refuse to give it to someone who is not at least marginally competent at basic mathematics.” 

“That’s fascinating. But no.” 

“You can’t say no! Do you know who I am? Of course you don’t, you’ve been flying helicopters and getting sunstroke for the past few years!” 

“Charming.” 

“Yes, yes. My personality faults are many and varied- but what is not faulty is my intellect or the fact that I’m going to win a Nobel in ten years. And that’s the worst case scenario here.” 

“How nice for you. But I’m a busy guy so I’ll just be leaving.” 

“But you’re not actually that busy. Because you’re not anyone’s TA. Which, yes, I’m assuming some idiot saw your missing limb and scarred face and thought they would do the students a favour, maybe they even thought they would do you a favour, but hello! You have to give at least a one hour lecture and pass an oral qualifying examination to get your PhD. And how exactly are you going to do that if you have absolutely no previous experience?” 

“So this is your demented attempt at charity?” 

“Obviously you have brain damage!” Rodney rants as he follows the man away from the counter. “I despise charity! But you’re the only unwanted TA with any sort of potential- even if it’s just mathematically!” 

“I’m not unwanted you dick! I’m…” Sheppard’s face does something strange and painful looking before he spits out. “Fuck you.” 

And then Rodney’s watching his only possiblility for a TA book it out of the shop. 

“Oh for…!” Rodney growls as he yells “Do you want charity? Because I could probably donate something!” But Sheppard has disappeared. 

So Rodney decides that John Sheppard can go fuck himself. 

———————-

John avoids Rasa Caffe in order to avoid Crazy Professor. 

He avoids his office because Teyla keeps giving him sympathetic looks and ‘inspirational’ quotes. Ronon keeps vaguely insinuating that they should go to the gym and also giving him unwanted information about Crazy Professor. 

(“It can only be McKay.” Ronon had nodded seriously through a mouthful of Twinkie as Teyla had dragged the whole story from John. “Which means you dodged a bullet.” 

An hour later there was a full file on Professor Rodney McKay on his desk which John just stuffed into his satchel while feeling nauseous as hell.) 

And, of course, the coffee shop and his office are really the only two places he feels comfortable in. The library is too shadow-filled for his nerves, the lawns too open for his demons.

So he stays away from campus, stays away from everyone and everything that doesn’t exist in his apartment (which is tiny and dark and defensible and his). He cocoons himself in more silence and hyper vigilance and so what if he misses a shower (or six?) because you’re vulnerable when you’re naked. 

He’s not expecting the sound of someone trying to pick his lock. 

He’s definitely not expecting it to be Crazy Professor who blinks up at him with blue eyes before paling. 

“Is that a gun? Are you insane? Don’t point that at me! I am a very precious resource not some hooligan you can shoot! Also, might I point out that I am an unarmed resource? Do you really think Berkeley will let you stay if you shoot me? Oh no. I really am surrounded by complete idiots!” 

John thinks it’s ridiculous that it’s the last part that’s wailed like something from a Greek tragedy. 

“Why were you picking my lock?” John asks instead of dignifying any of that with a response. 

McCrazy huffs irritably and starts waving around a brown paper bag like he’s hoping to brain an enemy combatant with it. 

“You weren’t on campus! And I heard some secretary tell a hippy that you were very upset by me last time we met and that I was several very unsavoury things. I think they were worried about your hair or something. Also- you smell terrible. Shower and have these and come be my TA.” 

“You really are crazy.” John sighs at the Professor. 

“Actually, I think you’re crazy. I mean, from my vague and horrifyingly inaccurate Psych 101 course I distinctly recall that PTSD qualifies you as crazy. I don’t have PTSD.” 

“Wow. Just what I needed to hear. I’m cured.” 

“Wait, really?” McCrazy looks ridiculously pleased. 

“No. Fuck off.” And John’s not going to lie, slamming that door in the asshole’s face is supremely satisfying.

“Oh, really? Well now I know you’re crazy! I mean, you’d rather be in there smelling yourself all alone instead of having these amazing donuts?? They’re artisan donuts you dolt!” McCrazy shouts at the door.

“You brought me artisanal donuts?” John asks back. 

“I was lead to believe that if verbal persuasion wasn’t working then bribery would be my next best bet.” 

“By who? The mafia? Can I expect physical persuasion next?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen me? And aren’t you army types trained to withstand that sort of thing?”

“It’s the Air Force.”

“So you don’t want the donuts then?” 

There’s a crinkling of brown paper. 

“I didn’t say that!” John scowls as he flings open the door and grabs the bag from McCrazy’s grubby little donut pilfering hands. 

“Ha!” McCrazy says through a mouthful of stolen donut. “You took the bribe so now I have evidence with which to blackmail you into doing my bidding!” 

“You watch way too much Law and Order.” 

“I’ll have you know that Boson is an avid fan of the show.” McCrazy sniffs as he squeezes into the apartment and heads for the coffee maker. “Where’s the coffee?” He screeches upon realizing that it’s empty. 

“I haven’t showered in…” John’s mind comes up blank with an exact number of days. “A while, and yet you expect coffee?” 

“Of course I expect coffee! I don’t care about your personal hygiene, but I do care about your caffeine intake!” 

“You’re weird.” John shakes his head as he picks a donut to try. His voice sounds more fond than it probably should. 

“I’m a genius.” McCrazy says. “And I’m about to make you coffee. After having brought you donuts. And graciously having offered you the position of my TA. How are you not begging to work for me yet?” McCrazy accuses. 

“Because I have self preservation instincts and they’re all telling me to run away.” 

“Are you sure that’s not your olfactory senses? Because they’re probably telling you to run away from your own stench.” 

“Look, McKay, you reputation precedes you.” 

“Much like your smell?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself. Your reputation’s a lot worse.” 

McKay throws up his hands. “Oh who cares if I’m difficult to work with? So I won’t hold your hand and I’ll yell at you constantly and you better believe that I’m going to insult your intellect! At least I won’t demand you practice personal hygiene or have a sparkling personality or DD breasts! Really I just need someone to keep me from killing the really stupid undergrads!” 

John eyes McCrazy suspiciously. “What about grading papers?” 

“Well, I mean, obviously I’d do the exams.”

“How many quizzes are you planning?” 

“I usually just give one whenever they’re being particularly stupid.” McCrazy shoves a mug into his hand. “Otherwise they cry too often.” 

“That doesn’t sound promising.” 

“Look, I’m a busy man. When I talk about the Nobel I’m serious. Everyone knows I’m serious! And yet I get stuck with these two ridiculous undergrad courses every year. I can’t keep up with my work and spoonfeed them!” 

John’s feeling better after the donuts (has he been eating? a quick glance in the fridge shows a negative on that question), the coffee is warm and real and solid in his hand and McCrazy’s ranting and irreverent attitude are reassuring in a way few things have been since Afghanistan. 

“Okay, McKay. I’ll be your TA.” 

John’s pretty sure he’s imprinting like some sad little duckling. 

“It’s Professor McKay.” McKay snaps back before starting to complain loudly about how a colleague in Supersymmetry managed to poach a promising but naive TA from under his nose. 

Definitely a pathetic lonely little duckling. John thinks as he drinks his coffee. 

——————-

It turns out that John is a startlingly good TA. 

Rodney doesn’t feel so bad at being blindsided by this fact simply because John is also blindsided by how naturally the job comes to him. 

Cadman had been reluctant as well at first, insisting on John having mandatory weekly meetings with her, but by the second month of the semester even she has to admit that he’s doing well. 

The discipline instilled in Sheppard by the army (Air Force, McKay!) means that class times are set in stone, to be adhered to at all times. 

“McKay, what’s this?” Sheppard asks from where he’s lounging in the doorway of Rodney’s supposedly secret sanctuary in the labs. 

“What’s what?” Rodney asks absently, his hands flying across his whiteboard to complete the equations that have been tap dancing through his brain for the last seventy two hours. 

“This email.” Sheppard says, shaking his phone at Rodney. 

“If it’s from Kavanaugh it’s a useless pile of steaming horse shit.” Rodney says certainly. 

“It’s from you, McKay, saying that class is cancelled because- and I quote- ‘I have better things to do.’” 

Rodney squints at Sheppard in genuine confusion. “You just read it to me. Where’s the confusion?” 

“Right. So it’s your science-y lack of basic discipline talking.” Sheppard says before bodily dragging a viciously complaining Rodney to his Physics 101 class. 

“Why are they even here? You- dimwit! Why are you here?” Rodney spits at a pimpled youth sitting in the front row. 

The kid blinks at him before holding up its phone and sniffling: “Well, uh, John said that we needed to show up because there would be class even if he had to drag you here himself… Professor.” 

“Did you know I built an atomic bomb for my fifth grade science fair?” Rodney says conversationally to Sheppard. “I’m a lot more dangerous than I look.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind Professor, now teach the nice kids all about rotational motion. There we go.” 

And then Rodney is ushered onto the podium with his lesson plan in hand and a frown on his face. When he looks down near the end of the lecture there’s a sticky note saying: “The study guide said there was a quizz for today”. 

It was stuck to just the right amount of quizzes to make the class groan and Rodney snipe: “What? It was in the study guide.” 

Which he supposes makes the entire episode worth it. 

Even when it’s repeated at least once a fortnight with the damn 101 kids. 

It’s John’s personality that makes all the kids in the 101 class (and, all right, the 403 class) swoon. 

They make a deal early on in the first semester: Rodney will only hold three office hours sessions for the 101 courses- a single session before the midterm and two before finals. John will handle all other 101 office hours in Rodney’s office. This was due to the fact that Rodney’s office hours (which he had also been dragged to) had made the poor lone student who had actually come have a nervous breakdown. 

John had been extremely unimpressed. 

When Rodney manages to next stumble into the physics department after another all night session of brilliantly solving Carson’s troubles, he finds a lengthy line outside of his office. 

“Is it midterms?” He snaps at the nearest human. 

It turns out to be a boy in a crisp blue button down and khaki shorts who eyes Rodney’s appearance in much the same was as one eyes a paper on quantum physics which uses Newton’s laws as its only equations. 

“No Professor McKay.” The boy’s brunette friend answers. “It’s just normal office hours.” 

“With John.” The boy adds, unnecessarily. 

“Fine.” Rodney snaps and stomps into Carson’s office instead. “Is this what usually happens?” He asks as he jabs his finger in the direction of the line before slamming the door closed. 

“People going to office hours?” Carson asks in his brogue. “I can’t rightly say even my lovely Miss Keller gets the attendance your charming young Major does.” 

“Major?” Rodney asks absently as he corrects an equation on one of Carson’s whiteboards. 

“Leave my students’ work alone, please. They need to find their own mistakes.” Carson admonishes Rodney without looking up from his typing. “And yes, John was a major in the Air Force so we’ve taken to calling him that. I think it helps his image with the wee ones.” 

“His image? I didn’t hire him to have an image Carson! I hired him to do grunt work so I could be brilliant!” 

“Aye, and he’s doing a lovely job of it. In fact, I think you might actually have a solid pass rate this year. Maybe even some As.”

“Stop giving me panic attacks Carson, and while I’m forced to be exiled from my own damn office let’s talk about your latest little piece of voodoo magic…” 

It’s John’s insomnia that results in the class quizzes appearing on Rodney’s desk the morning after they were written. There tends to be less red than Rodney feels comfortable with, and John’s comments are always strangely helpful. 

Rodney decides that if John has the patience to hold the 101’s hands like this, he’s getting far too much sleep anyways and he might as well make himself useful by checking Rodney’s math. 

“You’re terrible at integrating in three dimensions.” John says, awe in his usually lazy drawl. 

“I am not!” Rodney snaps. 

“No, no.” John grins lopsidedly at him. “You really are. This is a mess.” 

“It is not!” 

John ends up being right, but somehow he becomes so animated in explaining the whole debacle and Rodney ends up not being able to summon up the correct amount of ire. 

Rodney sleeps eight hours that night because obviously he’s exhausted. 

It’s John’s appalling skinniness that strikes next. 

“How has he managed to lose more weight?” Rodney overhears some 403s whisper on his way out of class one day. “I mean, he’s already skin and bones.” 

“I had an uncle like that.” Another pipes up. “He just couldn’t remember to eat when he was busy trying to win a war that he wasn’t involved in anymore.” 

So Rodney starts taking meal breaks. He sets his phone’s alarm and if John isn’t with Rodney, Rodney will hunt him down and make him eat. 

“Hypoglycaemia is a serious condition you cretin!” Rodney rants. “Do you know what a lack of glucose in your blood stream will do to your brain?” 

“Damage it?” John asks bemusedly from the other side of their deep dish pizza. “A lot like this pizza?” 

“Damaging your brain may be acceptable, but my brain is critical to the world’s advancement. And besides, we only eat pizza one day a week. The rest of the time it’s all fish and chicken and salads and my nearly dying from all the lemon involved in making them!” 

(It’s true. Rodney had ambushed some nutrition professors and demanded a healthy eating plan for John. They follow it to the letter.) 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” John replies, and Rodney notices that it is that special tone that he’s only ever had John use with him. 

Rodney thinks that he’s heard it used on other people, people who like the people they’re talking to. But he knows he’s probably just being ridiculous. 

(No one likes Rodney. He’s learned this time and time again and he refuses to make the same mistake at his age.) 

Sometimes John has a strange look in his eyes and seems dead to the world. Sometimes he forgets that he’s in academia and gets PTSD attacks. 

Rodney tends to just talk through most of it, and reads up about the conditions and stalks a few of the less crackpot psychiatrists he can find and demands to know what’s going on inside John’s head. 

Sometimes it works and sometimes John snaps. 

“Fuck off!” He’ll snarl at Rodney and Rodney will just give him an unimpressed look before retreating to his lab. 

“Coffee.” John will usually mumble after a few hours and shove the piping hot brew into Rodney’s hand. 

If that doesn’t happen Rodney will break into his apartment the next day and threaten to make breakfast if John doesn’t buy him some. 

It shouldn’t work but it does. 

They make it through the first semester, and during winter break John’s friends in the engineering department (where does he get all these friends from, Rodney finds himself jealously wondering) give them some remote control cars to test out on the mostly empty campus. 

“They’re made for people who don’t have two hands.” John grins at him. “Since the bionic arm is coming a little slow.” 

That little speech makes Rodney so green with envy he’s surprised that John seems blissfully ignorant of whilst they race the cars around. Then again, Rodney wouldn’t have ever thought he could be envious of those engineering idiots, and he’s still not sure why he is. 

Maybe it’s some sort of man-car relationship thing.

Of course, John’s sheer pleasure at the little vehicles makes the envy both intensify and lessen in a very confusing manner.

This makes John’s victory inevitable, if hard-fought, and results in John demanding a shake and curly fries as his ill gotten spoils. 

“It’s obviously not flying, but it’s still pretty fun.” John enthuses as he shoves a fry into his mouth, the words slurring as he tries to rush them out at a speed greater than his usual drawl. “And they’re pretty fast. I thought they’d be less responsive really.” 

Honestly, with his usually impossible hair and his scarred face and the weird twist to his lips and the spit that’s flying from the fast talking and the general unattractiveness involved in eating, Rodney should be recoiling in horror. 

Instead he finds himself focusing on John’s lips. 

So that night he goes home and Googles “Am I in love?”. 

It’s surprising how much the resounding ‘yes’ he concludes in doesn’t surprise him. 

——————

John thinks he’s doing pretty well, all things considered, and Dr Weir (Elizabeth, please John) and his entire bevy of academic support staff seem to agree. 

So when Rodney starts acting strangely after the whole RC car episode, John is unsettled. 

It’s not that Rodney’s not weird anyways, but this is a new level of freaky that goes beyond the egotistical maniac that John has gotten to know and be surprisingly fond of. 

But Rodney suddenly holds doors for John. One, and he might suspect that Rodney has managed to absorb some basic decency somehow. 

Two, and John feels like Rodney’s been replaced by a pod person. 

Well, actually he feels awkward and self conscious, but he knows that Rodney’s never been particularly aware of John’s disability so he decides to just… check Rodney isn’t actually an android. 

This really just leads to more evidence that Rodney has been replaced by an alien.

For instance: John catches Rodney staring at him. And he doesn’t look away when John catches him either, rather he seems to squint at John even more intensely. 

John catches Rodney staring a great deal, which is annoying because damn it. John enjoys staring at Rodney. It’s probably his only hobby right now. 

Rodney also attempted to wear cologne, which was a terrible idea all round since it resulted in Rodney and most of the physics department suffering from horrible hay fever and John having to drag Rodney back to his apartment to shower it all off. 

Rodney then managed to parade around in his towel and drop it every time he sneezed. Which really meant that John had to exercise every trick in the bisexual handbook not to just look his fill. 

Next is the fact that Rodney suddenly seems to drop everything whenever it finally registers that John is in the room. This of course leads to more intense staring and several comments along the lines of: “I like your hair. It seems especially… floofy today.” and “Oh, look, you’re wearing clothes that are aesthetically pleasing. Today. To me. Personally.” 

Which, really, gives John a complex about his fashion sense and also causes him to despair because they’re compliments without the typical ‘no homo bro’ disclaimers, but damn it they are the straightest compliments ever to be given. 

They don’t even need to disclaimers really. 

Then there are the texts- Rodney loves email, but his aversion to any other form of communication is well known. So when he suddenly starts messaging John at random intervals during the day it sets off all sorts of alarm bells. 

So John decides to lay the perfect trap: Pizza night in Rodney’s inner sanctum will lower Rodney’s defenses and is in an isolated enough location that civilians will be out of the direct line of fire. 

That being said, Pod-person Rodney is far more cunning than John foresaw. 

“Flowers?” John asks in horror. 

“Yes.” Rodney nods. “And they’re a new breed the botanists were working on that don’t cause hay fever.” 

Pod-Rodney proceeds to take a deep and noisy breath to illustrate his point, whilst simultaneously thrusting a box of expensive chocolates at John. 

“Rodney McKay, are you…” John makes an aborted sound that’s torn between amusement, relief and horror. “Are you wooing me?” 

“YES!” Rodney immediately nods vigorously while also pulling out his palm pilot. “And Carson said I shouldn’t listen to Google’s advice! Ha!” 

“McKay.” John says in his best commanding officer voice, smacking Rodney in the face with the aforementioned flowers and grabbing the palm pilot. “Concentrate.”

Rodney blinks irritably at him. “On what? I’ve wooed you, haven’t I?” 

John smirks at Rodney. “You’ve done the groundwork, Romeo. But I’m a classy girl, I don’t just say yes to any boy who comes a’courtin’.” 

“But- I mean…” 

“You have to ask me, Genius.” 

“Oh. Uh. To be honest, I was projecting a longer timeframe here, and I haven’t gotten around to that part yet…” 

“Hm. Messing up your grading curve again, am I?” John slinks down against Rodney’s beloved sturdy desk. 

“I had two people get As in my class, Sheppard, as you well know… What are you doing?” Rodney asks, licking his lips as John pulls him closer until their hips are flush. 

“Well, that was me flirting.” John nods sagely. “And this is me saying: Sure Rodney, I accept your offer to be an item.” 

Whatever Rodney was going to reply was lost when John kissed him, slow and sweet, a smile against his lips.


End file.
